The Four Boys at the Restaurant Sink
“It was your fault.”
“You insisted on that bookstore.”
“You spent forty-five minutes in the architecture section.”
“You spent an hour in poetry.”
A burst of laughter came from the media room and we both stopped to listen.
It was strange — the boys made the room feel steadier, and our history feel less like something haunting us and more like something we could walk across.
“What did you do after you read it?” I asked.
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